


Out of Words

by Jutschina



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jutschina/pseuds/Jutschina
Summary: Grantaire's day is not going so well, and as if it couldn't get any worse, some idiot bumps into him.





	Out of Words

Grantaire regretted leaving the house as soon as he pulled the front door shut behind him. The street noise, the people, the fucking sunlight... he put his shades on, pulled the zipper of his jacket up and walked down the street with only one thought on his mind: coffee. His head hurt like hell -- maybe he shouldn't have emptied that bottle of vodka last night but when had _"shouldn't have"_ s ever stopped him -- and the noise and the people and the light were getting on his nerves. Maybe he should just turn around, screw the coffee and the day, and open another bottle of booze.

And just when he thought that the day couldn't get any worse, someone full-on bumped into him as he turned the corner. Grantaire almost lost his balance; he tripped and would have fallen if it hadn't been for that someone grabbing him by his arm -- but the sudden move was enough for his sunglasses to fall off and right on the street.

"Fuck, no!", he cursed but before he could go after them, a car had already crashed them. "Shit."

"Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry, not my lucky day, are you okay, ami?"

Grantaire dismissed his broken shades with a resigned sigh and turned to look at the bastard who had tripped him over and who was still holding onto his arm. "Listen, _ami_ , you can go --- oh."

He was staring at a fucking god. Long, blond hair in messy curls; the face soft but with serious features; eyes like an ocean and designed to get lost in them. The guy was tall, lean but athletic; he was wearing a red plaid and black trousers. His mouth, with incredibly beautiful and soft-looking lips, was moving -- apparently, he was still talking but Grantaire didn't catch a word he said. He only noticed that the voice speaking was as angelic as the man's appearance.

"Fucking hell", he whispered and kept staring at the guy with wide eyes.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally managed to _hear_ the other's words again: "Come on -- shit, I'm sorry -- let's get you out of harm's way..."

The god in red and black now gently took Grantaire's hand and led him to a nearby house entrance that wasn't as crowded as the sidewalk -- he probably could have led him straight into a narrow alley to kill him and R wouldn't have objected.

"You sure you're alright, ami? You're not saying anything. I'm _really_ sorry, I didn't watch out."

Grantaire opened his mouth for an answer but he couldn't get any words out, except for a stammered: "H--hi."

The stranger smiled at him, glad to have received any response at all: "Hi! Are you okay? I'm Enjolras. What's your name?"

"Um... er..." Grantaire started blushing and laughed awkwardly. "Sorry."

Enjolras frowned in concern. "Maybe you want to sit down for a minute? You're a bit pale, ami." Without further ado, he sank down on the doorstep and pulled R down with him.

Grantaire sat next to him and simply couldn't take his eyes of the man while his brain was rewriting every single impression of the word "beautiful". Maybe it was the hangover that gave him the courage for what he did next: He pulled out a pen from his pocket and took Enjolras' hand who -- to R's surprise -- didn't withdraw it when he started doodling two coffee mugs and a question mark on his wrist.

Only when Grantaire had finished, Enjolras pulled back and looked at the drawing in silence. Then his eyes met R's who blushed and hid his face in his hands but at the same time couldn't help grinning like an idiot.

"No one has ever asked me on a date like that", Enjolras finally said with a grin. "So, do we go to Starbucks and I'll read your probably misspelled name on a cardboard cup, or are you going to _tell_ me your name after all?"

"Er...." Grantaire laughed and bit his lip.

"'Er'? 'R'? R it is then. Come on, R. I know a nice café round the corner, the Musain, they have the best coffee and the best atmosphere. Maybe you'll regain your voice there. Or I'll do the talking until you're fed up with it. I hope you like politics, though, because my friends tell me I never shut up about it."

With these words, this incredible beautiful man got up and pulled Grantaire to his feet. Confidently, he took his hand and led the way. Grantaire followed him with a goofy grin and a light heart. On the street behind them lay the broken pieces of his long forgotten sunglasses. The city was alive, the people were happy, the sun was bright -- a beautiful day in Paris.

**Author's Note:**

> This was kinda inspired by this beautiful German song by Namika, ["Je ne parle pas français"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=103bx_Waacc). 
> 
> My favourite lyrics roughly translate to:
> 
> "But you just keep talking  
> And I find it kinda charming,  
> And I draw with a pen  
> Two mugs of coffee on your hand"
> 
> "Your long, wild hair  
> The small scar on your face  
> Even the dust on your jeans  
> Has its esprit when you start talking  
> And the cigarette in your mouth tastes like liberté  
> As long as we're sharing it  
> You talk in body language  
> And I listen between the lines"
> 
> "I keep hanging on your lips  
> I don't want to leave  
> You keep talking and talking  
> And I don't understand a word"
> 
> That's screaming E/R at me idk.


End file.
